Memory Lane
by Maihi
Summary: For years Professor Severus Snape has locked his love for Lily deep down. The Sorting Ceremony is looming ever closer, and for the first time Snape will have to encounter Lily's son. He must find an avenue to cope...
1. Chapter 1

**_Summary:_ Professor Severus Snape is anxious about the up and coming sorting ceremony. **

**However, this will be the first time he will encounter Lily Potter's son...**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**The Tonic**

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><p>Professor Severus Snape paced back and forth the stone dungeon, which had become his main abode over the years.<p>

His hands were tucked and folded upon each other behind his back, and his wand was gripped firmly in his right hand. His eyebrows were pressed together in contemplation. Jars of curiosities sat upon rows of shelves preserved in clear solution. It made the walls come alive somehow, considering all the curiosities were dead, it was a very unnerving space to be in.

The floor was washed with a gentle green light, and the textures of the stone walls were surreal and hyped up with a green tinge.

As Snape marched back and forth, the air would whip the faintly green flamed torches about causing shadow and light to mingle and dance back and forth. Old wooden chests of draws lined the walls neatly, and there were labels written in beautiful calligraphy stating what resided inside them. Frogspawn, skrewt teeth, boomslang, and werewolf claws were but a few of the hundreds of labels adorning the symmetrical draws.

A handsome, heavy oak table sat in the middle of the dungeon. Thick sturdy legs supported it. They were elaborately carved with intertwining serpents – fearsome, and tenacious in appearance. The table was stained with a very dark tint. It was as neatly organized as every other corner of the dungeon was. An area upon the table had been cleared, and was ready to receive an influx of student essays. A pot of ink sat, recently filled – and a raven feathered quill lay beside the pot yearning to be picked up and used.

The quill emitted a scathing presence, and no doubt the essays about to receive its nib were going to be harshly criticized.

You could be forgiven for stepping into the atmosphere, and feeling uncomfortable.

However, Professor Snape was in his element. In fact he flourished in the grim environment. He very rarely left the dungeon, unless it was to do the bidding of Albus Dumbledore, to attend a staff gathering, take to the quidditch pitch or take potions lessons. His stomach was lurching at the thought of having to leave his dungeon today.

September 1st always meant there would be an influx of new students to deal with.

Young, bright eyed bushy tailed students, all looking to embark on their journey to magical accomplishment. A few young minds were worth mentoring and melding, but the majority were worthless and hardly worth all the time and effort – Especially when it came to potions. Very few students stood out in this field, and an outstanding student was few and far between.

Severus could barely count the young wizards and witches in training who had taken him by surprise, on one hand. His lip curled, as his stomach gave another horrible lurch.

He sat down in a heavy leather chair, behind the oak table and placed his wand tip to the tabletop.

He blinked as he considered which potion to summon: A stomach numbing tonic? Perhaps a peppermint flavored neutralizer? What about a spine tingling pick me up? No. Tonight was the arrival of the new students, and he wanted to cut an authorative demeanor. A stomach numbing tonic would do the trick.

Snape lifted his wand from the desk, and pointed at a draw to his left hand side. A draw whizzed open, and a silver goblet came flying out. The goblet sped towards the table, and landed right side up with a light clunk.

Snape lifted his wand, and tapped the lip of the goblet. A translucent liquid began filling up the goblet slowly. It bubbled very gently, and had the consistency of runny honey. Luckily for Snape, his talent at potion making meant he was able to concoct most potions with a pleasant taste, and not compromise their healing abilities. He lifted the goblet in his left hand, and downed the contents in several gulps.

It felt like liquid gold to his throat.

If there was one comfort in life, it was a potion brewed to perfection.

He felt his insides tingle ever so faintly – and before long, he could no longer feel his stomach lurching about uncomfortably as though there were snakes in the pit of his stomach. It was not often Snape had this feeling these days, but he had had it most of his life since he was a young boy.

His days as a student at Hogwarts had been the worst; but he often used his stomach trouble as motivation to perfect his potion making. It had paid off handsomely in the end. He was now the potions master at Hogwarts, and hadn't suffered any physical ailments during adulthood.

It did get a little annoying in winter, when professors flocked to him for protective potions against the common cold.

Snape's Cold Deflecting potion acted as a shield against the common cold, and had a fairly high success rate unless you were as unpopular as the wheezing caretaker Argus Filch.

Snape's fellow professors would do anything to avoid using Madam Pomfrey's Pepper Up potion, which caused steam to billow from the drinker's ears. Although the potion cured the common cold, all professors agreed that the potion was extremely disruptive during lessons – at which times students would burst into giggle fits at the sight of a professor steaming away like a kettle.

Snape placed the goblet back down on the table.

He watched it gleam by torchlight, as he reached up with his left hand and flicked raven black strands of hair from his face.

He placed the tip of his wand to the lip of the goblet and tapped it gently.

An odd metallic sound rent the air, as though two pieces of metal had been tapped together.

A bright shimmer radiated from the goblet quickly, and it was evident Snape's cleaning spell had taken to it perfectly.

He tapped it once more with his wand, and the goblet rushed back towards the draw it had come from. The draw itself closed with a hurried snap.

Snape took a deep breath.

Any moment now, the headmaster would surely summon all lecturers and students to the great hall, to prepare for the sorting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**The Pensieve**

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><p>Snape leaned back heavily into his leather chair.<p>

He rubbed his eyes warily, with his finger tips before looking across his large wooden table, to where an odd stone basin sat. He rolled his wand absent mindedly between his finger tips, as he took in the strange markings etched into the basins stone surface.

They were runes, and they spoke about wondrous events that could be brought back to be half-relived. "Half-relived?" murmured Snape inquisitively. What could that possibly mean?

The receptacle looked quite dull upon first glance, but Dumbledore had always assured Snape that it would bring him a type of comfort; for things that can only be relived in the mind. Snape had seen the basin countless times in Dumbledore's office, and had often been invited into the headmaster's office, while he pondered over the luminescent substance inside the basin.

An odd shimmering blue light lit Dumbledore's face, in an unforgettable way. It was during these moments, Snape had learnt to wait until he was spoken to before speaking with the headmaster. Albus Dumbledore often engaged with Snape in the most interesting discussions, after dwelling over this basin.

Dumbledore had referred to the basin as a pensieve. An incredibly rare receptacle Snape had read about as a student at Hogwarts.

Pensieves were few and far between, and every single one was unique. Modern day pensieves in particular were unreliable, and therefore the creation of a pensieve was scrutinized so closely that only the utmost dedicated witch or wizard produced one. It was a well known fact that pensieves were only ever as accurate as the mind from which the memories placed into the pensieve came from. Newer pensieves had often misrepresented and destroyed the slithers of memories placed within them, driving their users mad with the distortion between reality and memory.

Older pensieves dated back so far, that they had outlasted any living descendent of their creator.

The pensieve sitting before Severus Snape had been there since the founders of Hogwarts established the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Dumbledore informed Snape that it had in fact been produced at the school by Rowena Ravenclaw and that she had fashioned it herself. She understood and valued the mind in such a way, that she was able to create the first pensieve, and obtain the ability to ease the burden on her mind whenever there was something else she wished to dedicate her mind to.

Snape placed his wand down upon the table, and reached across to the pensieve.

He felt somewhat apprehensive about using it, but Dumbledore's word was more than trust-worthy, and the pensieve had held countless memories and thoughts in it, that were far more valuable than Snape's.

He traced the engraved runes with his finger tips.

The pensieve was oddly warm to the touch; Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How peculiar…" he whispered.

He dropped his hand into a pocket of his robe, and drew from it a small glass vial. In it a silvery strand slithered about, it was not of vaporous or liquid form. He raised the vial to his face, and looked closely at the shimmering strand as it coiled about delicately.

Suddenly a brilliant flash erupted in his office.

Hot flames burst into life, and doused everything in the office with a fierce golden light. Snape was used to this form of communication, and hadn't flinched in the slightest. The noise of the flames was piercing, but subsided just as quickly as they had occurred. Nothing in the room was damaged by the flames; in fact they had no effect on anything at all.

Snape raised his eyes to the ball of flames that sat burning brightly in mid air.

They quickly subsided, and from the middle of the flames appeared a single golden feather. It glistened brilliantly, and began floating to the ground gently.

It was the single feather of a phoenix. Dumbledore's method of communication was highly effective, and most staff rejoiced at the sight of the single golden phoenix feather – as it signaled for the gathering of all Hogwarts staff and students in the Great Hall. The sorting ceremony was about to begin.

Snape dropped his gaze back to the glass vial, which he still had raised in his hand.

So precious was this particular memory that he couldn't bear being parted from it. He both loved and loathed this memory, and it held as much power over him today – as it did all those years ago.

"Lily… Why is this all I have left of you?" spoke Snape.

His voice was calm and controlled, just like it always was. He had learned long ago, to shield his emotions and bury them deep down; so far down, that they couldn't be penetrated even by the power of an extremely proficient legilimens.

Occlumency was no longer an art to Snape, for it had become a way of life.

He took in one last gaze of the vial, and its contents before slipping it back into the pocket of his robe.

He picked his wand off the table top, stood up and straightened his cloak.

The phoenix feather had since vanished; presumably back to Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster never plucked feathers from his familiar Fawkes, the phoenix. Rather, the phoenix offered as many feathers as were necessary for summoning the professors – and the same feathers were re-used time and time again. The phoenix gave, or took feathers as professors came and went. Snape took one deep breath through his long hooked nose and proceeded towards the door.

He pulled the heavy dungeon door open, and stepped through but not before taking one last look over his shoulder at the pensieve.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Anticipation**

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><p>Professor Snape's cloak trailed behind him like a curtain billowing in the wind. His high necked collar sat beneath his jaw line and gave the impression that he thought very highly of himself. It made him appear regal. His face had that same concentrated look it always had. He noticed how students in the hallways would go quiet upon his approach. He could feel their eyes trailing him; they were waiting for him to pass before resuming in their half witted babbling. They were clearly excited about the prospect of the sorting ceremony. Excitement seemed to ooze from the students at this particular time of the year. Snape would look the odd student in the face, and watch as they cowered back slowly under his gaze. He enjoyed that type of power. It made him feel accomplished as a professor. He had never had a single student submit an essay past the required deadline. Even Professor McGonagall had one student submit an essay for grading late.<p>

Usually at this time of year, Snape would be patrolling the hallways, or the perimeter of the school ensuring all the students who arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were behaving themselves. But this year Dumbledore insisted he take a little time to 'gather his thoughts', until Fawkes summoned all professors and students. The second to seventh year students often arrived a lot earlier than the first year underlings. They were required to stick together as a house, and take their luggage to their dorm rooms. If time permitted they were left to their own devices for half an hour or so, as the first years took their first journey across the lake, towards the castle.

A group of gaggling second year Ravenclaws stood in a circle sniggering. Their heads were bowed, and they were hunched over as though they were deeply engaged in something. Snape's loud footsteps died down, and the noise of his heel dragging across the ground could be heard echoing off the walls as he skidded to a half behind the group. Snape pulled his hands in behind his back and stared unblinkingly down at the five Ravenclaw boys.

"Well, well… what do we have here?" said Snape, in an eerily sinister tone.

The Ravenclaw students whipped around, and stared up into the dark, unrelenting eyes of Professor Snape. If he really wanted too, he could have just performed legilimens, on the young students. But he had learnt not to bother meandering in the minds of others. Often times, most brain space was wasted upon pointless subjects, that Snape could do without knowing. Snape's eyes darted back and fourth between the five students, each face looking as guilty as the next.

"It's… it's a joke parchment… Pr… Professor Snape." muttered one of the students.

"A joke parchment?" questioned Snape.

He bore into the young student's face, with his pitch black eyes. The student quaked beneath his gaze. A joke parchment was innocent enough, but the young gaggle looked to be hexing it. Snape put a hand out quickly, his lips pursing together in a most unsatisfied way. The student handed it over without any questions, and dropped his eyes to the ground; a clear admission of guilt.

"If you'd like to know a joke Mr. Davies, why not look at your last potions grade? It makes me want to laugh just thinking about it!" said Professor Snape as he raised a disapproving eyebrow.

The student Roger Davies went utterly red in the face. His shoulders slumped down, and he had begun sneaking looks at his friend's faces to see whether they were laughing at him or not. However none of the students had laughed at him. They all knew better than to laugh at Professor Snape's comments.

"You're all heading the same way… and garbage like this is the reason why." Spat Snape.

He pocketed the joke parchment, and took one last look at the students. He would have given them detention if his mind hadn't been on the pensieve sitting in his office. Hexing parchments wasn't uncommon, but students were generally smart enough to do it in their own dorm rooms. All the students in the hallway were whispering, clearly trying to avoid catching Snape's attention. Their eyes were still upon him, following his every move.

"Luckily I won't bother taking house points, as the term hasn't officially started yet." Snape murmured.

Snape stepped away from the group of Ravenclaw boys, and continued on down the corridor. Just like all the other corridors of Hogwarts Castle, the stone walls were crammed with portraits of people, animals and scenery. They chattered loudly amongst each other, some portraits even interacting with students. The over abundance of noise fired up a level as soon as Snape had continued on his way, every day was the same at Hogwarts.

Snape pressed on towards a dark wall, in a tall stone corridor. He had trodden this particular corridor many times, and it always took him back to that same place whenever he stopped in front of this particular wall. His first time entering it at Hogwarts… This wall was the entrance way to the Slytherin common room.

"Pur sang". He said coolly.

The wall opened up instantaneously, and Snape stepped through it. The common room had low ceilings, black serpentine chandeliers, and large silk banners emblazoned with the Slytherin serpent hanging elegantly from the ceiling. Just like Snape's dungeon the common room was illuminated with an eerie green glow. The common room had a spectacular grandeur about it, that no Slytherin could resist being proud of. Snape certainly was no exception; his affections for the old common room had grown over the years. He looked off into the corner of the dungeon, where there was a group of old green leather chairs. It had been his favorite spot in the common room. He would pore over his potions notes for hours on end. The students in the common room had long since fallen silent, and were looking at Professor Snape awaiting his word. A set of footsteps caught Snape's attention. He looked to the student who had rushed towards him.

"Mr Higgs, please assemble the rest of Slytherin house. We are required in the Great Hall by Professor Dumbledore… It is time for the sorting." He said quietly.

Higgs nodded his head obediently, and without a word spun around and hurried off to gather the rest of the house. Snape took one last look around the dungeon before heading back towards the corridor. He exited the common room swiftly. It was always easiest to await the bustling students outside the common room, where one could remain clear of the raging stampede the students always turned into, when inside the common room. Slytherin house were generally quick at exiting their dorms, especially on the day of the sorting. Their anticipation for the start of a new year, and the feast had been mounting for weeks.

Before long his house had assembled noisily before him. Snape swept the crowd of students with one last gaze, before Higgs stepped from the common room, and gave a swift nod to signal that all students had exited the dorms, and common room. The newly appointed student prefects also nodded to Professor Snape that their groups of students were present and they all bustled away towards the Great Hall to meet the new comers into their house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four **

**A friend and a foe**

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><p>Slytherin house were the first to emerge into the Great Hall. Most of the professors who were not assigned with a task for ushering in the students from the Hogwarts Express, sat at the staff table engaged in conversation. They all stopped and looked towards the wave of students filing quietly into the Great Hall. Most students threw their eyes up towards the enchanted ceiling, taking in the sight of the spiraling galaxies and throngs of stars above. The ceiling was a beautiful deep blue, rich with the twinkling spatter of countless stars. Most thoughts running through their minds were of somehow harnessing the power of the stars, or ruling the galaxy. It was in a Slytherin's nature to dominate, and they could be forgiven for being so – as this was an attribute Salazar Slytherin searched for in prospective students.<p>

The first time Snape had witnessed the enchanted ceiling, he felt a fluttering excitement swell up in his chest. It was one of the most gorgeous things he had ever seen, and the way it took his breath away… He was absolutely astounded. He was always fond of the ceiling, and though years of being exposed to it since, had ebbed away his initial excitement for it, he could appreciate that most, if not all new students to Hogwarts would be enthralled upon laying their eyes upon the ceiling for the first time. Even Snape wouldn't dare begrudge any student who was astounded by it.

Snape had come to learn, that enchanting the ceiling was not particularly hard for Albus Dumbledore. None the less, it was a very complex bit of magic and terrible things happened when the enchantment was botched up. Electrocution and flooding were but two, of a long list of worries if something went wrong. Some rooms had even been vacated permanently, due to months of downpours and lightening storms where Witches and Wizards, had not succeeded in casting the enchantment correctly.

The students all shuffled up towards the Slytherin table, which was closest to the wall. From the main entrance, their table was situated to the left. Dumbledore had got to his feet, and was smiling fondly at all the students. His half moon spectacles were perched on the end of his long crooked nose, and he seemed to be surveying the students with an air of excitement. He raised his hands in the air, and the students hushed completely. Snape proceeded forward to take his place at the staff table. There was no set order for the professors, besides Dumbledore taking up his chair in the middle of the staff table, and McGonagall flanking him to his right, as the deputy head mistress, though she was currently absent due to her ushering duties. Dumbledore dropped his hands and motioned for the students to sit. There was a flurry of robes, and the shuffling of feet as they took up their place at their house table, and began engaging with each other again. Snape pulled back his seat, and sat beside Professor Quirrell.

Snape looked to Quirrell, who obliged him with a courteous nod.

"G… g… good to see you S… S… Severus eh." stuttered Quirrel.

"Same to you Quirinus, I hope you are well." Replied Snape who hadn't even bothered to look at his turban-clad collegue.

It had always gotten under his skin that Quirrell had been given the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Originally the Muggles Study teacher, it took Snape by surprise that Quirrell had managed to secure the position, having been away on sabbatical for a year. Snape was on fair terms with Quirrell, but he certainly didn't go out of his way for his fellow professor. He harbored a faint loathing for the blundering professor, who seemed to be frightened of mere shadows and the wind rattling away at the castle windows. Snape had also detected oddness about Quirrell since he had returned. There appeared to be a hidden motive in all he did, as though he was constantly looking over his shoulder ensuring he wasn't being followed or scrutinized too closely. Snape also noticed it wasn't often Quirrell met people eye to eye.

The hall filled up quickly, with the three remaining houses and their accompanying professors. The house ghosts also came in, through their various methods of appearance.

The Bloody Baron sauntered in through the main entrance wall looking as vile as ever, while Sir Nicholas materialized through the Gryffindor table. The Grey Lady drifted vaguely in through the wall nearest the Gryffindor table, and lingered in seamlessly with the surroundings as she always did. The Fat Friar merrily announced his arrival with hearty chuckles as he swooped about, and delighted the students with his antics.

The hall was alive with the hustles and bustles of hundreds of people and ghosts, mingling and exchanging stories with each other. The voices echoed about the hall, off the walls and off the ceiling. The house ghosts were busy re-enacting final moments of their lives, while students laughed with delight. Dumbledore beamed, as he chatted with Argus Filch the school caretaker. His happiness was radiating about the room, and it seemed to affect everybody.

Snape sat quietly; he was half listening to Quirrell talking about his journey around the world. He placed an elbow on the arm rest of his chair and placed his jaw into the palm of his hand. He glanced out into the crowd of students, and watched as they laughed and chuckled.

Quirrell's words were jumbled about in his ears, he caught the odd word such as 'eye opening' and 'enthralling' there was something about a hag with twelve toes, and a man who could only meow like a cat to communicate. Snape nodded absent mindedly. His brow was low, and his eyes were unblinking. He was utterly lost in his own thoughts. The atmosphere around him was bursting with activity, but he was barely noticing any of it.

"Th… they really do like their m… malt ay S… Severus?" questioned Quirrel.

Snape nodded stiffly, still not bothering to look at Quirrell.

"Yes, they do, how scintillating." Snape added lifelessly.

Quirrell plunged on with his discussion, quite clearly oblivious to the sarcastic tone in Snape's voice. Snape looked across and noticed Dumbledore had begun pulling his robes together, in preparation for standing. The aged yet kindly wizard rocked back in his chair slightly, before leaning forward again and pushing himself up onto his feet. The first year students were obviously not too far away.

Evidently Dumbledore's phoenix Fawkes had alerted him to the fact that the first years were outside the castle. Snape noticed how a phoenix feather lay beneath Dumbledore's hand upon the table top.

Silence fell over the hall in succession as students noticed Dumbledore was standing. Professors had ceased their discussions, and all eyes in the hall rested upon the headmaster. The sound of Professor McGonagall's voice could be heard, as she was informing students to tidy their robes, and clean their faces.

A multitude of footsteps could be heard, and before long a myriad of cloaked students entered nervously into the main entrance of the Great Hall. Professor Minerva McGonagall stuck out due to her height, and emerald robes. Her black hair was pulled back tightly in a high bun, and she carried a stern look upon her face.

Snape flicked his eyes across to Quirrell, and noted the look of intensity upon his face. Quirrell's eyes were darting about rapidly, as though he was desperately seeking out a hidden object. The footsteps of Professor McGonagall tapped about the Great Hall, and there were the odd murmurs and whispers from nervous young students, about to be sorted into their houses. A clunk of wood upon the stone floor told Snape, that the stool and sorting hat were in place. The moment was approaching.

A tear formed in the sorting hat, which sent most of the first years into an odd flinch. The tatty old hat shuddered slightly, and many of the first year's mouths dropped open in surprise. They were all transfixed as the sorting hat proceeded to break into song.

"Oh you may not think me pretty"

"But don't judge on what you see"

"I'll eat myself if you can find"

"A smarter hat than me."

As the sorting hat rung through its yearly ritual Snape couldn't help but think back on his first time encountering it. On your first day at Hogwarts there was nothing more peculiar in this place, than seeing a hat transform before your eyes, so that it could speak and communicate with others.

He had found the hat to be somewhat repulsive, and felt uncomfortable with the notion of placing it upon his head. After the hat had finished the song, some fool he had met on the Hogwarts Express, even gloated about being happy that he would be sorted before the 's' lot, so as not to have to place something on his head, that had been on Snape's head.

Snape swept a contemptuous look across the first years as though they had just read his mind, and he was daring them to speak up about it so he could silence them forever. However, none of them were even noticing.

Snape flicked his glance back towards Quirrell who had begun intertwining his fingers, in the rather annoying way that fidgety toddlers do after they had been told by their mothers to sit still, and not touch anything.

Professor McGonagall was holding a roll of parchment in her hand, and proceeded to read off the names in alphabetical order. As had been done for centuries, each student stepped forward and made the long trip towards the sorting hat. Sitting upon the stool and jamming the hat upon their heads to be sorted.

Snape recalled how proud he felt at the hat calling Slytherin out when it came time for him to be sorted. It was like music to his ears, something he had looked forward to for a very long time. He wasn't kept long; as it was evident to the hat that Snape's will was strong enough to dictate that he in fact belonged in Slytherin house, without a hint of doubt.

There had never been anything that deterred him, or derailed his ambition to align with the green and silver banner of the serpent. For Slytherin house had turned out so many successful and powerful wizards. Through his reading as a young boy, he had come to learn that Slytherin students were renowned for their dedication to pushing the boundaries of magic. This had ignited a passion to prove himself, as a highly skilled wizard.

"Potter…" echoed a voice.

Time slowed down.

Snape came out of his reverie.

That name… what he wouldn't give to be rid of it for good. No matter how much time had passed that name still haunted him. A deep seeded anger ignited in the pit of his stomach, and it took all the control Snape had not to bare his teeth in a scowl. It took him by surprise when he felt an odd pain shoot suddenly up his arm. He dropped his eyes to his wrist, and noticed his nails were dug deep into the arm rest of his chair. Evidently Quirrel had noticed, and was gazing intensely at Snape's ghostly white, vein ridden hand.

Snape pulled his hand quickly away from the arm rest, and bore into Quirrel's face with a look of disgust. Quirrel dropped his eyes, in an attempt to shake Snape off his trail. His eyes trailed off into the distance, as though it had been mere coincidence he had ever looked at Snape's hand.

"Harry…"

Time seemed to pick up again. There was dead silence for a millisecond, before the sound of clothes ruffling, shoes hitting the ground, and the clatter of limbs upon the wooden table tops rang out. Whispers and murmurs filled the air, as the sound of foot steps started.

This was the moment Snape had been dreading. He lifted his eyes aimlessly into the sea of black. Everything was a blur, and he couldn't focus on any particular feature. All he knew for certain was that all the faces in the room were directed at the boy making his way towards the sorting hat.

Suddenly he could feel it.

The headmaster's gaze was upon him.

Snape pulled himself together, and took note through his periphery vision of the slightest glimpse Dumbledore had thrown in his direction. The headmaster was kind enough not to linger upon Snape for too long. In fact, nobody would have ever known Dumbledore had looked at him. A slight bitterness jolted through Snape's core, for he knew that look was one of pity.

He would have to do it.

Look into the face of that which he loved dearly, and into the face of that which he loathed above all else; the very face that represented a duality of emotion for Snape. He steadied his breathing, and cleared his head of all the rage that felt dangerously close to spilling over. It felt like a life time, dragging his eyes from the mass of unfocussed shapes to the lone figure stepping across the stone floor.

That hair was instantly recognisable, as was the face shape – and those glasses… those round rimmed glasses framing his… eyes… Snape felt his chest constrict. It felt as though he was caught in a vacuum sealed bag. Everything else around him vanished. It was as though he was in the great hall alone, with this boy.

Those eyes!

How dare he…

They weren't his eyes at all!

They were hers!

Those almond shaped eyes, of brilliant… radiant green.

"Potter"… mouthed Snape.

"Wh-what was that Severus?" Questioned Quirrel.

Snape jerked his head in annoyance.

He couldn't drag his eyes from the abomination before him. This young boy represented everything that finalized the union between Lily Evans and James Potter. Snape felt as though his skin was beginning to twist, and tear apart from the inside. It felt like a snake was coiled tightly in his stomach, and it was beginning to unravel itself forcefully.

His heart was thumping out of control and he felt light headed. He was going to explode, and not a soul in the room would be able to contain or console his rage.

A sudden booming voice shocked Snape out of his mental anguish.

It was the sorting hat.

Evidently the Potter brat must have reached the wooden stool and jammed the hat upon his head. The snake making its way up Snape's throat retreated and a wave of controlled calm washed over him.

That was it. The moment he had been dreading since he learned of Lily Evan's death… and Harry Potter's survival.


End file.
